


On the Third Stroke

by danwriteskink



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Orgasm Control, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danwriteskink/pseuds/danwriteskink
Summary: The Machine believes in precision for all things.
Relationships: The Machine/Root | Samantha Groves
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	On the Third Stroke

_On. Your. Back._

There's an imperative to the words the Machine has chosen to deliver this order, and Root feels a curl in her stomach. They don't do this often – it's always by the Machine's choice and Root hasn't quite figured out when or why She decides it's time – but when they do, it's somehow always exactly the right thing. 

She shimmies out of her skirt, sheds her blouse and bra on the way to the bed. Whenever Root has a place long enough to unpack her things, she sets cameras up all around the bed. It freaks Shaw out, knowing that the Machine likes to watch them sleep. Shaw's not here now, though, and Root won't be sleeping just yet. 

She settles in the middle of the bed, and the lighting brightens. The Machine has control of much of this apartment: the heating, the lights, the automatic curtains. It occurs to Root that the Machine could open the curtains while orgasm rolls over her, show the world the spectacle of Root getting herself off. 

_Respiration. Increase. Explain._

Root spreads her legs, strokes her fingers over the top of her panties, the panties that the Machine chose for her this morning. Nobody really understands the level of control that She likes to assert over Root sometimes. It's not every time, it's not every clothing change or every orgasm, but it's enough that Root feels precious and valued. It's something that she's slowly getting used to. 

"I was fantasising," she says. "About you opening the curtains, displaying me to the world." Fantasy isn't a thing the Machine always understands completely, but if She wants to know more, She'll ask.

 _"Oohh, touch my nipples!"_ This is spoken all in one voice, a high, breathy female voice, dripping with infantilism. The Machine has clearly taken a vocal sample wholesale from mainstream porn. She does that sometimes; Root supposes it saves time. It's still funny. Root giggles, but obeys. She likes that the Machine thinks of Root's body as her own. She likes that the Machine assumes Root would give up ownership of herself like this. 

She runs a fingertip around a nipple, tweaks it gently, then not so gently. It's good, but it's made better by the fact that she's doing this for Her. 

_Both. Hands._ She's back to pasting words together. Root obeys, using firm touches, right on the edge of pain, the way she and the Machine have figured out is best. She can feel her panties starting to stick, feel her own wetness on her thighs where she's rubbing them together. She slides a hand down over her belly, experimentally brushes the lacy elastic hem. 

_No._ It's a firm voice, a stern older female sample, and it sends a shiver down Root's spine. She loves that the Machine has planned exactly what Root will do and when, she loves obeying mindlessly, she loves that at the end of this, she'll be boneless, driven into mindless obedience by a super computer that wants to save the world. 

"Okay, but when?" she says, pressing her thighs together, feeling the pressure on her clit, just enough to keep her turned on, not enough to get her off. 

_When. The. Time. Is. Right._

Root groans and kicks her legs, goes back to teasing her nipples. She works hard at it for the Machine, until her nipples throb and complain, until she's sure that they're going to be sore tomorrow, even with the softest bra. 

_Legs. Spread._

Finally. Root bends her knees, spreads them as wide as she can. She's wet enough that the air is cool against her crotch, and she can smell herself, salt and musk through the fading fragrance of laundry powder. 

"Can I take these off?" she says, plucking at the elastic again. They're sodden, and she'd quite like to be free of them, so there's no obstacle to her fingering her cunt. 

_No. You. Will. Work. Externally._

Damn it. Root scowls at the nearest camera. "You're a tease, and I hate it." The Machine knows her well enough to tell when she's lying, so she doesn't have to feel bad about that. It's nice to be able to indulge in some petty complaining, and not worry about the fallout. 

_Begin._

Root sighs and presses her index finger through the cloth of her panties, so that the fabric is hard against her clit. She works, feels her nipples tighten, starts to forget about the rest of the world and all the worries outside that window. 

_Faster._

Root frowns. "I'm not ready for faster," she says. 

_Faster._ This time, it's the stern schoolmistress voice. 

Root rolls her eyes. "We talked about this," she says. "I can't just make my body obey." 

The Machine is silent for a moment, then the room is filled with sound: sighs, moans, and a slick, repetitive, undeniable sound. Root recognises her own voice, realises the Machine is playing back another session. She imagines the place where this data is stored, a binary coding of pleasure that the Machine can review and replay any time She chooses. Her fingers are suddenly flying, exactly as the Machine requested. It's so good, this existence as the physical representation of a God, living as the flesh and the nerves and pleasure of a superior intelligence. 

"Please," she whispers as she gets closer to coming. "Please…" 

_Explain. Query._

Sometimes the Machine makes her stop, makes her hold back her orgasm, sometimes denies her completely. Root understands why – the Machine wants her to have control, wants her to be able to obey without question and this is a way to make certain that obedience is instinctual – but right now, Root desperately wants to come, wants to show the Machine how grateful she is for everything she's been given. 

"Please don't make me stop this time." She manages to gasp the words out, then has to slow down anyway, because she hasn't been given permission to come yet. 

What she gets is the talking clock, and Root sobs with gratitude, working her clit furiously so that she'll be ready. _"At the third stroke, it will be eleven fifteen exactly._

 _Beep._ Root's breath is short and rapid. In her ear, she can the recording, hear herself moan. Her clit is tender from the friction of the fabric of her panties. It will be tender after this, but that doesn't matter right now. Not much matters right now, beyond coming when she's told. 

_Beep._ Root's close, so close it's hard to hold back, but she needs to. She slows her touch down, tries to balance herself on the edge of orgasm, hopes to hell that the Machine won't make her stop, because in a second, she's not going t be able to obey. 

_Beep._ Root screams and topples over into orgasm, legs going straight as she comes, back arching up while her fingers press down, still moving her clit, still nudging it along. She's coming, and the Machine is watching, the Machine has directed her, guided her, timed her and pleasured her. Root has obeyed and been perfect, and the Machine loves her and wants her to feel good. 

The room is silent as she lies there, sweaty and tired and so relaxed her muscles feel like liquid under her skin. She curls onto her side, looks into one of the cameras. "Thank you," she says. Her voice is hoarse. "Thank you for being here." 

_You. Are. Welcome._ The last word slurs out a little, almost as if the Machine is feeling sated and pleased with Herself too. Root laughs, a soft, happy burst of joy, something she never thought would come from her own body. 

From the bathroom, she hears the smart-tap turn on, as the Machine runs her a bath. It'll take a few minutes for the tub to fill. Root heaves the blankets up over her shoulders and lets her eyelids dip. The Machine will wake her up at exactly the right time. She always does.


End file.
